Super Mom and the Best Bubble Mix Ever!

Super Mom I am not. Despite what my shirt says. That shirt was a gift anyhow. From a Super Mom. She is such a Super Mom that when my daughter had a Super Hero birthday party, my Super Mom friend made us all Super Hero t-shirts and Super Hero capes. Thanks Super Mom.

It's not my intention to make Kielbasa Stories the glorification of myself as a mother. I'm not really into the Mommy Blogger thing, although "Mommy" is one of the titles I proudly hold. The Mommiest of my moments? I do make my kids' birthday cakes and share them here, but not because I'm Super Mom. It's because I'm not. My kids won't eat store-bought birthday cakes, and I'm so proud of myself for not fecking the whole thing up and that it is actually edible.I am in such disbelief that I have to share them here to immortalize them for all eternity. As simple as that. 

Oh, and this week I made pierogi, and I took a picture, and I shared it on two forms of social media, so there!

Having said all that, I'm about to do the most Super Mommiest thing I have ever done. I am going to share with you my super secret recipe for seriously the Best Bubble Mix Ever! And I mean it. That's not click bait. I have created with my own hands the most amazing Bubble Mix with just a few simple ingredients.

I started from buying industrial size Bubble Mix from Tesco for a birthday party we were planning. It cost an arm and a leg, smelled like old socks, and my kids promptly spilled the whole thing in the backyard. Furious and not wanting to lose my temper, I took that now empty bottle and checked the ingredients. As you may know Bubble Mix is basically soapy water, well soapy water and some glycerin. So I bought a bottle of glycerin and mixed it with water and some dish washing liquid. Voila, bubbles. Well, kind of. The bubbles weren't very bubbly. They didn't want to come off the wand. When they did, they popped quite quickly. 

Hmmm, back to the ingredients list. I didn't recognize the rest of the ingredients I must admit. Most of them seemed to be responsible for the old sock smell as far as Google could tell me. Then I Googled one last ingredient, and was surprised that Google showed me bottle after bottle of Durex Play. Yep, the missing link in my bubble mix is the main ingredient in Durex Play. Durex Play is not cheap, but a bottle that costs 28 zl in Poland is enough for about 4 liters or more of bubble mix. However, when buying three bottles at the pharmacy, it isn't the best of ideas to tell the pharmacist that they are for your kid's birthday party. Live and learn.

So here it is...

The Best Bubble Mix Ever

A bottle or jar of water

3 healthy squirts of a good quality dish washing liquid

A small bottle of glycerin 

4-5 healthy squirts of Durex Play 2 in 1

Depending on your bottle and your definition of healthy squirts, your mix might be too concentrated. No worries. When you pour some out for the kids, just dilute it with a bit of water.

What makes this recipe the Best Bubble Mix Ever? Well, the mix is extremely productive. With one dip of the wand, you can make 10 bubbles. The bubbles come off the wand easily, they are bouncy, and they last a long time. Plus it doesn't smell like old socks. 

 Happy bubbling!

PS In case anyone is in doubt that my kids are totally Polish, please note my daughter's footwear ;)

The Angriest I Have Ever Been At My Mother

That's the card I received for American Mother's Day. Please notice that the card is in English. Oh, and that's me in the pink and purple stripes.

No one can make you angry like your mother can. It usually doesn't take much, an innocent comment, sometimes just a look, that goes straight to your heart and immediately infuriates you. I remember plenty of slammed doors as a teenager and the occasional "you're ruining my life". I even remember an argument years ago which ended with me storming out of the house in tears.

Don't get me wrong. I love my mother. We are very different people and very different mothers. Even so, she had her hand in who I am today, tears and all. My mother knows I love her because I tell her so. We're the rare breed of mother and daugher who actually say the words "I love you". I must admit that I was the one who started it. I don't recall any "I love you's" from my childhood, not a one.* As an adult I was very resentful of this fact. Some years ago I decided to be an adult about it and change it. What was the worst that could happen? My parents wouldn't say it back? Of course they would, and they did. Thus, a new family tradition was born. That means that "I love you" was the last thing I said to my father and the last thing I heard from him. You never know when it's the last one. 

Moms have a big influence on their kids. I know that some day, my girls will grow up and sit around the table talking about how I infuriated them over the years. Just the thought of that warmed my heart. I'd like to hope that now I am an adult, I could return the favor to my mother....and infuriate her like she has infuriated me.... and have some influence on her...positive influence, I hope.

The town where I grew up is teeny tiny, and located in a rural area.There is a university though, so we felt all worldly about that when we were kids. Any new people in our town were usually professors, doctors, or other professionals. It wasn't a place where people moved to but rather away from. I mean there wasn't any reason to move there if it wasn't for a job. We didn't get many or any foreigners back then.

Flash forward to today...my hometown is still teeny tiny. The area is still rural, but maybe a little less than before. There's still a university - it's even bigger than when I was a kid. The newbies in our town come from all kinds, not just professors or professionals. We even have some foreigners.

My aunt happened to be our Spanish teacher in school. We couldn't figure out why we had foreign language lessons back then. We didn't see the need. Plus we did everything to sabotage my aunt's lesson plans, thus leaving us after all those years with little to no Spanish in our heads. My aunt is retired now, but she substitutes in the district schools and works as an aid when a Spanish-speaking kid needs language support. My mother was telling me about my aunt's latest position as an aid in one of the kindergartens. There was a kid who couldn't speak English almost at all. My mother's commentary on that (break out the mom voice), "Well, apparently his parents can't speak a lick of English. I don't know what the problem is, if they're just too lazy or too stupid to learn."

And that's where my head exploded. Pure fury. Skype hath no fury like a daughter for her mother. I don't even get that mad when my mom Skypes me in the middle of the night and asks why I'm not asleep. 

My question to my mother, "Do you think I'm too lazy or too stupid to learn Polish?"

My mother, in her totally mom voice, "No, of course not honey. Polish is a very hard language! And you are a very busy lady. You have your work and the girls."

"So Mom, maybe those parents just came to the US. Maybe they work long hours. Maybe they haven't had an opportunity to learn. There are a million reasons why somebody wouldn't know English and stupid and lazy are not at the top of the list."

The conversation went downhill from there, you can be sure about that. I was angry and disappointed that my mother would not have more sympathy for an immigrant parent when I myself am an immigrant parent. Me, her child.

I still love her though. She's my mom.

Happy Polish Mother's Day!

*I just remembered one "I love you" from my childhood. My father dropped me off at my high school and just as I reached the main doors where my friends were waiting, he got out of the car and shouted, "Chri-is! I loooooove you!"

To the parents who think it is unfair

I was not a competitive student as a child. That metamorphosis didn't take place until college, and it wasn't pretty - just ask any classmate who ever asked to borrow my notes and got his or her head bitten off. I don't recall any serious exams or competitions that we had in elementary or even high school - excluding my driving exam at 16 which was pretty memorable. Kids in Polish schools today have the opportunity to take part in a lot of academic competitions, really, a lot. There are notices on the bulletin boards outside the classrooms. Posters for various competitions, often called Olympics, are taped to the glass doors. Kids bring home flyers from their teachers and sometimes from the organizers of the competitions. Announcements are made on the school webpage and on the electronic gradebook. We get direct e-mails from the teachers requesting our children's participation.

Participation is voluntary. There are those children who cannot wait to show off their skills and knowledge and are glad to have the opportunity to do so. Other children could not care less. They are not interested in sitting a test or preparing with the "team". Some kids do it to get a higher grade out of their teacher at the end of the semester or at the insistence of a parent. Some kids cannot be persuaded by any form of force or bribery, not even as practice for the "real" exams they will take in the future. That's all good. I don't have any problem with that.

I just have something to say to the parents who think it is unfair that my child competed in the English Olympics grades 1-3.

Firstly, this particular English Olympics is run by a company, not the Department of Education. It is a crap test given for a fee intended to justify all those Helen Doron courses parents spend money on.

Secondly, my kids are Polish. They were born in Poland. They go to a Polish school. They had a Polish nanny when they were little. Yes, they have American passports as well, but they have been to America twice for short trips. Maybe you parents have been on vacation to America or Great Britain or Australia for a week or two. Did your kids manage to learn enough English to give them an "unfair advantage"? No? Neither did mine.

Thirdly, the fact that my children speak English at all is a miracle. Well, it is not really miraculous at all. It is pure work. My children speak Polish all day long. They learn in Polish. They read in Polish. They watch TV in Polish. They fight in Polish. They dream in Polish. How many hours a day do you spend with your children? I, as many parents unfortunately, spend very few as I work evenings. Of those hours you spend with your children, how many of them are actual meaningful engagement between you. One? Two? Less than that?

My kids have English at school, the same as your children 2x45 minutes per week. Last year Lizzie had 6 different teachers - 6. Rosie's teacher pronounced birthday as bearzday. They were not covering any material that they should. I had a lot of calls from parents wanting me to teach their children privately - parents who on the most part could speak English and definitely on a level high enough to teach their own 8-year-old. 

I force my children to read in English, to watch TV in English, to learn new words in English. This is what I recommend to all parents when they ask me what they should do and to all my students who are parents. It is not something you have to be American to do. Yes, I speak to them in English. They answer me in Polish. When they speak English, they say things like "drinked", "goed", "don't can", "sanged". Not to mention saying a sentence in English with all nouns in Polish - Today Pani gived us karteczka to take do domu. We have to kolorować the karteczka and give it back to Pani jutro. If we don't gived it jutro, we gets jedynka in the książka. Very English, wouldn't you agree?

Believe me parents, if you put as much effort into your child's English as I do, your child would speak English almost as well as mine. I do it for them, but I do it for me too. Can you imagine not sharing a language with your children? As a mother, not speaking to your baby in your own language? I don't do it to spite you. I don't do it so my kids will come out on top in the English exams. Lizzie has never participated in those exams because she is not interested at all. Her philosophy is that she is awesome, no need to prove it. Rosie participated last year at the insistence of her teacher, and this year declared she's not interested. Again at the insistence of her teacher, she signed up, and we paid the fees. Last year Rosie didn't even catch on that is was an English exam. The first question, read aloud by the instructor, was - "What color is a hippo?" with choices of pink, green, grey, and purple. Rosie said, "Who doesn't know what color a hippo is?" "It was an English exam, Rosie." "Ooooohhhh," says Rosie.

So parents, zip it. When my child doesn't want to sing Silent Night at the school show, it's because she doesn't know it, not any more than your child. And when my child gets a good score on the English exam, congratulate her - a lot of hard work stands behind that success.

Boga przecież nie ma

Raising your children without religion doesn't mean they have to be ignorant of religion. It also doesn't mean that they lack a moral foundation. But it is not without work. Here's what we've done so far.

Like most people, we started our children out on fairy tales. We talked about what was good and bad in the story, what was magical, what was make-believe, what was real, what we would do in the same situation. Then we moved on to mythology. I am not at all interested in mythology so we bought some mythology books that the girls showed an interest in. That's when I spotted Jest wiele wiar - O co pytają dzieci  by Monique Gilbert.

The book contains 4 sections of 4 religions. We learn about a day, a week, and a year in the life of a Catholic, Muslim, Protestant, and Jewish boy and girl. We learn about important events for each religion and compare and contrast the beliefs, traditions, and rituals. We also learn about important figures in each religion. This book, although for children, is very informative. I learned a lot from it. The intention of the book is for children to feel comfortable with religion and to understand people who practice those religions better.

Here's a quick peek inside:

Next we chose this book Boga przecież nie ma - Książka o niewierze w boga by Patrik Lindenfors. What I like most about this book is the support it gives to a child to not believe in something - to not believe in something that an adult tells you, to not believe because it doesn't make sense to you, to not believe because you don't like it, to not believe simply because you don't and that is your right even if you are a child. 

Here's a peek inside:

I think that these books are useful tools for parents in non-religious and religious households alike. I found them both at Empik book shop right off the shelf. Jest wiele wiar - O co pytają dzieci  by Monique Gilbert can be found in the original French under the title Il était plusieurs "foi" pour répondre aux questions des enfants sur les religions. I haven't been able to find it in English. Boga przecież nie ma - Książka o niewierze w boga by Patrik Lindenfors can be found in English under the title God probably doesn't exist. Polecam.

Welcome to Hel

I've been warned all my life that I'd wind up in hell. Who knew it was such a beautiful place. The sand is a lovely white color. The water is clear. The weather changes from minute to minute, but the air is fresh and crisp. We had a good time.

It was our first trip with the girls to the Polish seaside. They really enjoyed the beach, the go-carts, and the waffles with whipped cream. There was a moment of disappointment when they realized that the water was cold. Then they discovered jellyfish in the water, and all was forgotten. The water is cold. The wind is cold. It rains almost every day. Be prepared. You can get sunburnt even on a cloudy day as my red legs can attest to. I was not prepared.

Here was our stanowisko. We didn't have the windbreakers (parawany) which are extremely popular on Polish beaches. I'm not sure if they are popular because they actually do break the wind or if they just appeal to Polish people's love of fencing themselves in or rather fencing others out. 

our humble homebase 

Daddy, why the windbreaker? There's no wind. ----But there are fellow Poles.

After five minutes on the beach, we were already on a ciocia-basis with our closest neighbor. She requested joining her parawan with our beach blanket to create a more private zone which she defended tooth and nail. Our kids began playing in the sand, and they were lost to us for most of the day.

cold, clear water

a jellyfish delicately returned to the water

one of many sandcastles

We let our kids run, jump, swim, sunbathe on the sand, pretty much do whatever they wanted. From some of our closest neighbors I observed a different philosophy of beachgoing. The philosophy of taking kids to beach and not letting them swim. There are two schools of thought apparently- one, it is too hot to swim - the other, it is too cold. The same ideology applies to eating ice cream as well. The next part of this philosophy involves taking frequent breaks with mother sitting on a beach towel, not the sand, never sit on the sand according to this philosophy. Additionally don't walk in the sand because you'll have sand in your shoes. This said to a child already on the beach. Said child stops walking, frozen in the conundrum presented to him by his mother. How can you take a kid to the beach and not let the kid swim I wondered as one mother tortured her child while all other kids were having fun. "Why did you even bring me here?" asks one 10 year old girl. I wanted to ask the same.

Our girls found some like-minded children with normal parents and spent the time being happy and having fun.

I was very happy to be on vacation. Not that I don't like my job. I love it. It is a very people-oriented job though, so it was nice to not have to talk to anyone or listen to anyone or correct anyone. I'm pretty sure Ciocia from the next parawan was trying to get some English lesson out of me for her grandson, but I just disappeared into my book.

Not everyone looked happy to be on vacation. People were literally running the path to the beach, not because they were excited to get to the sea, but because they were worried about finding a place. I wanted to scream - There's enough beach for everyone! Once they got to the beach they eyed up the other beach goers with unfriendly looks. When new holidaymakers arrived, they told them to move on, there's not enough room. People! We're on vacation. Smile at each other. Enjoy yourselves. Enjoy the (fleeting) sunshine.

One gentleman behind the next parawan was thought to be sleeping by his family but instead required immediate medical attention. The lifeguards did their Baywatch run down the beach, and then the EMT's arrived. Nothing like a possible death on the beach to snap people into perspective and to realize that it is an amazing thing to be alive, to be on vacation, to have our little piece of the good life no matter how small it is. The man was revived, and we saw him on the beach the next day. 

What's a trip to the beach without getting buried in the sand?

an evening on the beach and Rosie's solution to cold water

port side of Hel

sea side of Hel

that frisbee was an excellent source of fun for all of 3 zl

our attempt at a selfie

Lighthouse in Hel from afar

from a bit closer

evenings on the beach were my favorite - kisses from Tatuś

we dropped a lot of money on go-carts

the fokarium with seals

the beautiful beach

We stayed in a private apartment. It was located close to the Cypel and gave us easy access to the beach from both the port side of Hel and the sea side of Hel. The apartment was adorable in a kitchy kind of way. Enjoy.

I had to sleep under this and...

...under this.

a little nautical theme

with a pinch of religion 

and a smidgen of art

and a sprinkle of kistch

basically awesome, that's the owner in his younger years

We also visited some military stuff, bunkers and whatnot. I gave myself a good scare when I shined my flashlight in the prisoner's hole in a door in one of the bunkers and met the eyes of another tourist that I did not realize was already in there. A lot of the bunkers, etc. have been used as toilets by other tourists so visit at your own risk.

All of Hel is a kind of kitschy, touristy place. If you are expecting elegance, go somewhere else. If you are expecting families with kids, ice cream, fish, french fries, beach volleyball, windsurfing, kitesurfing, disco polo bars, military museums, fishing museums, boat rides, lighthouses, seals - then Hel is a good place for you. One thing we didn't find and we were looking for were t-shirts from Hel. We saw a lot of t-shirts such as - I don't need you, I have internet - Eat cupcakes for breakfast - This is my hangover t-shirt - but not even one Hel shirt. People in Hel must have a sense of humor, I mean the bus to Hel is #666. Do Polish people not buy t-shirts when they on vacation?

We're back home, and we miss it already. Now it's time to clean up all the sand we brought with us.

Ahoy!

Zombies are people, too.

We are not religious. Not religious may be putting it lightly. I don’t mean that we just go to church or temple for the big holidays. Our attendance is much less frequent than that, as in we only go to church when somebody dies. Well, lately we’ve been to quite a few funerals so maybe that is more frequent than less. We are so-called non-believers. We are non-smokers as well. I cannot think of any other cool “non” phrases to describe us. Being non-believers doesn’t mean that our children are ignorant of religion. I mean every day at their public school, the posters on the walls remind them not to worry that they don’t believe in God because God believes in them and that Jesus Christ died on the cross for their sins. They also got to know that unicorns are the symbol of “sexual freedom, homosexual sex, lesbian sex, and group sex, etc.” I cannot imagine what the “etc.” could possibly be, but perhaps the Religion teacher could explain it to me. Thanks Miss Nun/Catechism Teacher for introducing 8-year-olds to the phrase “group sex”. As you can see, our school understands the concept of religious freedom a little differently than we do.

As parents, we feel that it is our responsibility to share some important beliefs and holidays from the world’s most prevalent religions with our children. Around this time of year, we talk about Easter and Passover. Just a disclaimer here – I teach religious stories as legends or mythology. I just tell them that there is such a holiday - it has a place in that religion’s history and culture. I don’t justify or judge. I allow my children to react as they will. From these and other stories I ask the girls what conclusions they can draw or if there is a moral in the story.

Our kids call Passover “Jewish Easter”. No offense Jewish friends, it’s due to the timing, not the celebration. I have never celebrated Passover myself but some Jewish friends gave us the breakdown back in Catholic school. (Many Jewish children attended our private Catholic school when we were kids. They were encouraged to share their religion and holidays with the class.) When I explained the whole “passing over” part with the lamb’s blood and all of that, my kids asked, “So their kids were saved, but what about the other people’s kids?” Welcome to the Bible, dear children. Their next question was in amazement, “So people celebrate that?” They completely glazed over the end of slavery part and focused on the part where one family is passed over and their first born is safe, while the other family is not. It was a lot of information to take in, slavery, plagues, a just, but vengeful god. Their conclusion drawn from the Passover story was that you shouldn’t be happy about your neighbor’s misfortune. Not the most direct conclusion and directly in conflict with celebrating your own good fortune of being passed over, but a conclusion which I can support.

Easter is closer to home due to my early education in Catholic school. I haven’t celebrated a religious Easter in more than 20 years, but I’ve got the main story down. My children were most interested in the Resurrection. The Crucifixion part they took as a sign of the times “back then”. Lizzie claimed that resurrection was impossible. She also figured that Jesus could not have come back as a ghost because ghosts don’t exist and that he couldn’t have come back to life as that is not possible. Her analysis was that crucifixion, while horrendous, did not in fact kill Jesus and so he simply regained consciousness and did not come back from the dead. In between all her reasoning, she demanded that I check for sure on the computer that Jesus came back in body not in spirit. Rosie, upon hearing confirmation that Jesus had come back in body, declared that she knew what had happened. “Jesus was a zombie,” she said. I cannot argue with that because that is more in keeping with the original story than Lizzie’s version and was the way a (then) 5-year-old explained it to herself.

At 5 years old, I did not think like that. I did not ask questions at Catholic school. I listened, and I took everything at face value. I believed whole-heartedly in Jesus, the Resurrection, Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny. As I learned that Santa didn’t exist, I naturally questioned the rest of my beliefs. So what happens when kids ask a lot of questions in Catholic school in America in the early 80’s?

Well, of course we got the typical answers from our teachers, nuns and priests, that you have to believe. Don’t ask how it happened, just know and believe that it did happen. Ok, but what if we do not and cannot believe? Well, you are on a path, they told us, which in the end will lead to belief. Perhaps you are too young now to give yourself over to faith, but don’t worry one day you will believe. And if we never believe, we never have faith in any of what you have taught us? Your path may take you another way, you may not be a believer. You may find your faith in 5 years or 50 years or not all. And that was it. No screaming at us. No telling us that we would go to hell. Just an acknowledgment that not everyone has faith. That was one of the critical moments in my path, my path as an atheist, the acknowledgement that there was another path because until that moment my entire education in Catholic school had left me with a constant sense of guilt. I felt guilty for practically everything I did, had done, or would do in the future. I was even born a sinner according to the church a concept that I never accepted and until today reject, hence my dislike of christenings.

Unfortunately, my kids while sitting in the halls of their school do not have that luxury – the luxury to discover their own path without guilt. The face of Jesus looks down on them on each floor of their school telling them “You must repent. Your time is running out”, “You cannot afford a life without the Lord”, “You were born to serve Him”.

Happy Zombie Jesus Day.

We all know I turn a little peculiar when I visit home.

I realized some years ago that my parents don’t know me. I am not even talking about the inside me, my thoughts, my feelings, my beliefs. I am talking about the regular, old outside me - how I spend my time, what my home looks like, what car I drive, what books I read.

To tell the truth, years ago I hid a lot from them. I mean it was easy to do living so far away from them and it’s not as if they visit. Actually I only hid from them the fact that I was seriously ill. I didn’t want to worry them needlessly. I was pretty sick. I only told them years after.

I mean who doesn’t edit what they tell their family? Some people edit out the bad, others play up the good. Now I do neither. I tell it like it is. Too bad nobody is listening.

The realization that my parents don’t know me hit me even harder the last time we visited them -we, meaning me, husband, and children. It was their first time to see me as a parent and after not having seen me for several years including two pregnancies it must have seemed to them that I arrived with an instant family. The parents had trouble getting used to me as a parent and to my girls. I chalked it all up to the fact that we had to get to re-know each other. I did my best to acquaint them. I loaded hundreds of pictures onto my parent’s computer. I showed them the girls’ school on-line. I repeated the stories of their births and all their “firsts”. I got a few polite nods and even one nodding off (my father). Not exactly the reception I was expecting.

As it didn’t go very well last time, I don’t know why I was expecting something different this time, but I was. Last time I figured it was just a matter of getting to know each other. It would all smooth over. This time I figured that my parents just didn’t know how to get to know us. This time I’ve tried my extra best. I’m armed not only with pictures, but also with short films of our home. I’ve got a few nice stories about us on deck. And the girls, well, they are older now and they can speak for themselves. I’ve tried some relaxed conversations. I’ve tried some staged conversations forcing out the stories about swimming lesson successes, A+ book reports, school absences, birthday parties. I have given the grandparents alone time with the grandchildren as well.

Lest you think the flow of information is all in one direction, I have been filling in the children with stories about my parents, where they grew up, went to school, worked, I have shown them where my parents go to church, where they spend time. As well my father has driven them all over showing them his hangouts. I watch as they listen attentively and how they shyly begin to ask questions and then to tell their grandfather something about themselves only to be interrupted by something much more important that their grandfather has to say. I see how their faces crinkle up. I see how they shrug their shoulders. I see how they are giving up. I see myself as a child.

It hurts when you tell somebody you miss them and they say nothing. It hurts when you tell somebody about their grandchildren’s school and they dive into a 15 minute story about another grandchild. That’s just me, an adult, I can take it, but the kids?

I am not one of those people who expect the world to stop just because I moved away – my goodness I have been away too long for that. I guess I just expect some balance. I know they want to tell me what I have missed out on here, but they forget that they are missing out on our lives there. And they’re not even willing to listen.

I just had an expectation of what it would be like for my children to have grandparents, for my parents to be grandparents to their grandchildren. In my mind’s eye it all looked a little different, not even ideal, just different, closer, less going through the motions, more real connections. Oh lord, I have to stop now because that last sentence just reads like some sappy, late-night commercial for an internet dating site. I warned you that I get peculiar when I visit.

Parenting Tips

As mother of 2 small children, I have learned some things about myself and about parenting in these past couple of years. Surprising, since I feel that I am actually losing brain capacity due to sleep deprivation. (Rosie could work for the CIA.) I suppose that the parental learning process never ends and that is kind of scary. When will I figure it all out? As I mentioned at the top, I have learned some things not everything. Here are some of the things I have learned. These tips are not comprehensive and are not in any particular order and will stop as soon a I have to take dinner out of the oven.

#1 Take the plastic off of the cheese before giving it to the child.

#2 Playdough is a major food group for 1-year- olds. Don’t turn your back (to write your blog, for example) on a 1-year-old armed with a handful of the stuff. It will soon become a mouthful.

#3 Children cannot be allowed to bark orders at parents.

Misiu has taught Lizzie to ask for something in this manner, “Something to drink, please. Daddy, I love you”. “Cartoon at work (she means Cartoon Network), please. Daddy, I love you”. Sometimes she is so excited she forgets to add what she is asking for and comes out with a quick “Please, Daddy, I love you” which is also a nice, if not sneaky, way to get your kid to tell you that they love you a few times each day.

#4 Teach children to respect breakable items that are on low shelves

…but put the valuable ones (sentimental or otherwise) somewhere out of reach. We had a glass candy dish from the 1926 World’s Fair in Berlin. It was left in our house when we bought it and most likely was originally left there by the German family that was removed from this part of then Germany, now Poland after WW2. It survived the new Polish family which had 6 children only to be smashed to pieces by my Rosie. Here’s the bottom part that is left.

#5 Teach your child a foreign language from birth.

If you have such a possibility, it is a fantastic thing to do for your child. Believe me, I know. I teach English to adults and every last one wishes they had started to learn earlier.

I never imagined that I would have bi-lingual children. Me, a rural Pennsylvanian girl whose closest encounter with foreigners was meeting Amish kids at the market ;) But alas, it has happened and practically without any effort.

While pregnant with Lizzie, I read up on all the latest information I could find about bringing up bi-lingual children. Most authors recommended that each parent speak to the child in their own native language. That’s how we began, with me speaking English only which makes sense because my Polish isn’t very good and Misiu speaking Polish only although his English is excellent. We were prepared to wait a long time for Lizzie’s first words. That’s what most of the literature suggested but around her 1st birthday she started speaking and she started in English. It was no surprise because she spent most of her time with me.

We have 2 children now and we have changed our tactics a little bit. Misiu speaks to the girls more in English as we see that they lack contact with the language. I never ignore the girls when they use Polish but I encourage them to speak English more. Lizzie mixes the two languages, but usually consciously for fun. At the beginning, she learned that there are 2 languages in a very concrete way. If you ask Nanny for chocolate, you get nothing. If you ask Nanny for czekolada, you get chocolate. She also knows that she can ask Mommy for either czekolada or chocolate and she will get…nothing. Through trial and error, she started to distinguish the words that got her what she wanted in different situations. I think also the brain sorts out the different language sounds and patterns easily at this age. Sometimes when Lizzie doesn’t know a word in one language, she asks us. Lizzie understands that some people know Polish, some English and some both. Recently, she was surprised to find out that I don’t know German. She thought her parents know all languages. Rosie’s understanding of both languages is very good so far but she’s not a big talker yet. She’s doing what Lizzie did, choosing the word which she is more familiar with or the one that is easier to say. Babcia or Baba is easier to say than Grandma (and it doesn’t help that Grandma is on another continent and has never met her grandchildren, sniff, sniff).

Some language hits:

Tatuś + Daddy = Daduś

żelek (singular) żelki (plural) gummy bears or other gummy treats = in Lizzie speak żelk and żelks

I will never sprząt all the mess. sprzątać=to clean

I want to syp out the toy box. sypać=pour out

raspberries are witaminki :0) that was taught by the girls’ nanny. so cute.

I need a break because my nogs hurt. nogi = legs

Moja mama mówi English. My mother speaks English.

Idziemy na soccer place. We are going to the soccer place.

I kop-ed a dziureczka in the sandbox. dig and hole

The cake is piek-ed. pieczone = baked

We can magic the car, I think but it will not uda. (succeed) My hands are not magically.

More to come!